I wish
by AmiliaPadfoot
Summary: A faux fairytale. A wolf in sheep's clothing. A well constructed play with unwitting participants. However the way you see it, it's too late to change the outcome. James wishes, Teddy regrets, Albus is haunted by past images and Lily hopes for her own happily ever after. Warnings inside (bottom of first chapter). Chap.1: James Chap.2: Albus Chap. 3: Teddy Chap. 4: Lily.
1. Onions make me cry, Kid (December 2018)

A/N: **This fic comes with warnings. **I hope to avoid giving spoilers so they are at the _**bottom**_ of the page, but I do urge you to read them. I do not own Harry Potter in any way shape or form. Thank you so much to camillablue, Dramione Perfected and Lauren Larkin for all their help and patience. x

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I wish.

It was very quiet. And sudden. There was no fanfare. No blazing lights. No curses flying everywhere. No screaming, no protest and no goodbye. He wasn't tortured for information. He didn't fling himself in front of an innocent. He didn't go out in a blaze of glory. There wasn't even an illness that struck him down in a fickle fit of fancy. Just the sound of flesh hitting flesh, then flesh hitting a kitchen counter and then nothing. Nothing but the sound of a sobbing child.

That was me.

I don't know why it shocked me after that but it wasn't the first time, I was told. I wish I hadn't witnessed the last.

I remembered clearly, years ago, my dad holding me tight. He was whispering comforting nonsense to me; telling me 'it's okay', 'I'm sorry', 'I love you.' But it wasn't okay and dad shouldn't have been sorry and he didn't know what love was. Not if he counted this. It sure was a fine way to celebrate his Anniversary; laying in the hospital bed, wrapped in bandages and tubes.

I hadn't realised the truth at the time, of course.

"Just an accident, James. Let it go."

I wish I hadn't.

…

His body was covered in marks: burns, bruises, scars; some formed under friendly-fire. I just never realised. Always assumed it was the enemy.

"But how did it get there?" I'd stared down at the table top, transfixed by my father's hand.

"It doesn't matter, James," dad had sighed, the way he did when my endless questions turned to the past.

"Who put it there?" I'd demanded.

"An evil woman." It was said simply; so matter-of-fact, like stating the time.

"Why does it say that?" I'd reached for his hand to look closer, but he had simply turned his palm upwards and taken my smaller hand in his. "You're not a liar." He'd looked down at that, not into my eyes like he usually did.

"I was telling everyone that Voldemort had returned. She didn't want people believing me."

It was all I was going to get out of him, I'd known that. Besides, my attention had been re-captured by his wrist and the marks staining his skin.

"Did an evil woman do that too?" I'd asked with all the tact of the small child I'd been. He'd glanced up apprehensively and bit his lip. I'd felt my mother's hands on my shoulders.

"James, leave your father alone." I'd craned my head up to look at her. I'd wanted to protest. I'd wanted to know more about the evil woman. I'd pictured her dressed in black; green and warty like the Wicked Witch of the West in the Muggle film dad had shown me. Or with crazy black hair and dark eyes and a skull-like face, like in that newspaper clipping I'd caught Teddy glaring at once.

She smiled at me; her tone was gentle but firm: "Go and play Quidditch with your cousins."

The idea of Quidditch had driven wicked witches out of my head. "'Kay, mum!" I'd jumped off the chair and raced out the door. I'd only looked back for a second and glimpsed mum and dad kissing; her fiercely so - a hand tangled in his hair. To me they'd looked so in love.

I wished I'd looked closer.

Maybe I would have seen some green under those beautiful looks.

Then again, maybe not.

….

I used to believe that they never fought. But all couples do, some just behind a locked door. Always his idea. _Let's talk in private, dear._ The silence frustrated me. I liked listening in on conversations, especially those that involved me. Didn't like being kept in the dark. I wish I'd stayed there.

"I'm sorry, Love. You know how much I want to go but they brought the court date forward-" I'd heard dad's voice drift up the stairs as I descended. I'd hoped to have him on my side when I asked for a new broom. It was that bloody tree's fault not mine, after all. I'd listened for a response and sure enough she sounded peeved.

"You promised, Harry. You've had this date in your calendar for a while now." I'd sighed. If dad was already in mum's bad books then now wasn't a good time to ask. Not without an ally.

"I know Gin, I tried to get out of it…" he trailed off as he caught sight of me. Mum turned and saw me too; she hadn't looked as annoyed as her voice had suggested. In fact, she was lovingly smoothing out dad's rumpled shirt collar. She'd smiled at me and gave dad's shoulder a squeeze. I thought I'd imagined the wince.

"It's fine. I know you wouldn't be cancelling if it wasn't important," she'd told him lightly.

"Thanks for understanding, Gin. I'll make it up to you." He'd kissed her on the cheek and my heart had soared. They were playing nice; maybe a new broom was possible after all.

"I know you will, love."

…..

How could I have been so self-absorbed? So naive? So clueless?

"Merlin, dad, slow down." We'd been rushing through the busy street; weaving in and out of fellow pedestrians. I'd had a hard time keeping up with dad but he'd kept me close; probably worried about losing me in the swarm of workers making their way home.

"We're late."

"I'm sure we're not," I'd reassured, trying to glance down at my watch.

"We were supposed to be there half-an-hour ago, James," he'd informed me, sounding slightly breathless.

"Only half-an-hour? Merlin, you'd think we'd missed the whole thing the way you're carrying on."

"James." There'd been a warning in his voice that only a parent could achieve.

"Sorry, it's just you're panicking over nothing," I'd huffed as we'd broke off from the crowd and headed down a deserted alley. We'd slowed our pace as he pulled himself together.

"I'm not _panicking_ ," he'd protested. "It's good to be punctual." He's given me a stern look that was softened by his smile. I'd grinned; cheekily and carefree. I'd teased him:

"You just don't want mum to be mad at you."

"Yes, I'd rather avoid that, thank you." His tone was deadpan in a way I was used to associating with his sarcasm. I'd completely missed the wistful note to it.

"Look, she'll just tut and look disapproving, maybe moan a little and then laugh it off. We'll go to this stupid function, she'll have a great time and that'll be that." I'd been so nonchalant; couldn't see what the fuss was about. He'd smiled back. All traces of worry were gone from his face. He'd taken my arm and before we'd apparated he'd told me:

"Yea. You're right."

I wish I had been.

….

I cried when it happened. I cried so hard.

Now I can't help but wonder; can't help but look back and think. How many 'Let's talk in private, dear's' had resulted in a reasonable adult discussion and how many with hexes unfurling? How many black eyes and split lips had been the result of a 'bad day at the office' and how many from a bad day at _home_?

How many times had I woken to dad yelling from a nightmare as he slept beside his wife? How many times had it been from a nightmare he was living _because_ of his wife?

 _"I'm sorry I woke you, Jamie."_

 _"Go back to sleep, buddy."_

 _"Everything's fine, son."_

My dad was a very private man. Very quiet. He kept his opinions to himself, unless asked. He kept his secrets too, even when I asked. I wish I'd tried harder.

"Are you crying, dad?"

I'd heard the front-door door slam as I'd walked into the kitchen and the sight was disconcerting at best. Dad didn't cry. He was a big, tough Auror. Head of the Aurors. Totally indomitable.

"It's the onions."

I'd screwed my face up in confusion. "Onions?" Dad wiped his eyes on his sleeve, blinking furiously, and moved over to the simmering pot on the stove. It had smelled heavenly. My dad's cooking always did.

"Onions make me cry, kid." He'd gestured to the slices of onions, carefully chopped on the counter, as if they were exhibit A in his case. I'd crossed my arms over my chest, trying to look defiant as I stated my counter-argument.

" _I'm_ not crying." Dad had simply chuckled, adding the onion to the pot.

"You must be tougher than me, then," he'd teased before beckoning me over. He'd handed me a spoon. I'd stared at it and he'd laughed. "You use it to stir, Jamie."

"I know that," I'd grumbled and for a while I'd stood there, stirring the pot while dad prepared the next ingredient. He was quieter than usual and I'd wanted to break the silence.

"Where's mum gone?" I think he'd stiffened at that. I barely noticed at the time and I might be imagining it now.

"She's at a friend's house," he'd told me and I'd rolled my eyes. I'd gotten that reply a lot.

"She's always there."

"Her friend's going through a tough time, mum's helping her out." He'd shrugged casually but he'd succeeded in making me feel slightly guilty for moaning.

"Oh. She home for dinner?" He'd shaken his head before putting on a smile.

"It's just me and you misfits." He put his hands on my shoulders and gently moved me aside as he spoke.

"I'm not a misfit," I'd huffed. The pot had bubbled as dad had worked his muggle-magic. "They're misfits. I fit just fine." He hadn't chuckled, like I'd expected him to. He'd turned and pulled me into a hug.

"We all do, Jamie. We're a family." I'd nodded into his chest, not really sure how else to respond. "I love you, kid." He'd held on a little tighter, like he never wanted to let go. He did though.

I wish he hadn't.

It had happened again the following week. The same door slam. The same meal prepared. Another hug.

"I love you and I'm not going to lose you." It was just a whisper but I'd heard it anyway.

"Why would you lose me?" I'd blurted out. He'd looked slightly startled, then smiled, his eyes teasing – normal dad again.

"It's you, Jamie, you're too skinny." He'd tickled me then, announcing through my giggles that I'd 'disappear if I turned sideways.'

"I'm not that skinny," I'd protested. He had stood back and looked me over, pretending to consider my point.

"Yea, you're right. You don't need fattening up anymore. I think me, Al and Lil will have this all to ourselves." He's gestured to the pot and I'd thrown my hands up in mock indignation.

"You can't do that! I'm helping to cook it after all."

"I suppose so," he'd relented.

"Love you too, dad." It was meant to sound lightly sarcastic but he'd teared up anyway.

At the time, I'd sighed, shook my head and joked, "Those onions really get you bad, don't they, dad?"

…..

I wish he'd told me. Somebody. Anybody.

My dad was a very private man. He's also a very dead man.

I wish – _oh God_ , I just wish. I wish you were here. Here. With. Me.

I'm sorry.

I miss you.

She can't hurt you anymore.

I wish she never had.

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 **Thank you so much for reading. Constructive criticism more than welcome but please don't flame or send hate for the way I decided to portray this pairing.**

 **Spoilers** **!**

 **WARNINGS: This is a death-fic. It includes non-graphic domestic violence. Female on Male abuse. Can be viewed as OOC-Ginny but not intended to be a fic created to bash Ginny. Very slight fluff. No sexual scenes of any nature. **


	2. I'm a lucky man (April, 2019)

_Warnings from the last chapter still apply. Thank you to WordSmithers, namelessrandom and Lauren Larkin for the help :)_

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 **Harry James Potter**

 **Beloved father, brother, friend and husband.**

 **31/07/80 – 03/08/18**

James can see thestrals now. He told me so last night. He never said a word when we were in the carriage together and he kept it to himself for eight whole months. He says they're a wicked sight to see but not worth it, really. Not worth the price paid.

Hogwarts hasn't been the same this year. I had people staring at me the year before but never with so much pity. I remember dad crouching down in front of me and telling me it would be alright to be a Slytherin. He said that it wouldn't matter to them what house I'm in and when I'd wrote home, asking not to be disowned, he'd told me not to be stupid; that home wasn't home without me and I'd better not ask something like that ever again. And when he'd picked us up at the platform he'd smiled at me, not at all perturbed by my green and silver embellished uniform. He'd hugged me just as tightly as he did James; and while my brother had pulled away, embarrassed I only wish I'd held on longer.

He'd defended me. Uncle Ron had been a bit of a prat to me that summer as he, himself, admitted. He couldn't quite trample down that old prejudice and, although his behaviour was more to do with his darling daughter slowly but surely falling for a Malfoy, some of his comments had stung. Dad would have none of it. He didn't care that Ron was one of his best friends in the whole world and his brother-in-law. I hadn't liked the two of them arguing but I got the feeling that he would have gotten angry on my behalf no matter who it was, even his wife.

He was sticking up for me all that time and two days later he was gone. Maybe if he'd spent that time sticking up for himself instead, he'd still be here now. I know that's harsh. My dad must have had his reasons. They were probably numerous and so intertwined that'd he'd felt stuck.

It was clear to anyone who looked that he loved my mother.

"Dear Merlin, but you look stunning." Mum was standing there at the bottom of the stairs, dressed up in her best evening gear. I'll admit she looked pretty but such things didn't hold my attention. I'd fidgeted while he'd wrapped an arm around her waist.

"Are you sure? It's not too much?" she'd fussed, tugging at her earrings. James had rolled his eyes while dad gently took her hand away and kissed her on the cheek.

"Relax, love. It's prefect. You're perfect." She'd smiled and Lily had let out a dreamy sigh. It was my turn to roll my eyes. Dad had taken us all by surprise and lifted mum up into his arms, bridal style. She had let out a little squeak, but looked pleased, and he'd announced rather casually that they'd 'best be going.' He'd then pinned the three of us with his best parental stare.

"You munchkins better behave for Teddy, okay?"

"Yes, Dad."

"'Course we will."

"'Kay, Daddy."

As my siblings ran off to find Teddy, I'd followed mum and dad out into the hallway where I'd held the door open for them, like a gentleman. Dad had winked down at me and I'd heard him whisper to her.

"I'm a very lucky man." She'd rested her head on his shoulder and smiled.

"Hmm…definitely."

It wasn't long after that that I'd ran up the stairs of our home, so excited by something I can't even remember now, that I'd burst into my parents room without knocking. Dad, his back to me, had been looking through his wardrobe. He hadn't heard the door open and I'd opened my mouth to speak, but before I could he'd taken his top off and I'd closed it again.

I'd never seen dad with his shirt off before. He was one to remain covered up and I never really questioned it. Most of my family holds scars from the war. My Uncle George is missing an ear and Uncle Bill's face clearly shows the signs of Greyback's attack. Neither of them have a very dangerous job now, not like dad did, so I could understand why he wanted to wear his long sleeved shirts and jumpers. He didn't want us to see or worry when he picked up another mark, be it from a dark wizard or low-life criminal. Out of sight, out of mind and all that.

Besides, there were many photos of my dad's time at Hogwarts and summers spent at the Burrow. He'd warn concealing clothes then too. I'd known, of course that this probably had more to do with the people he had been raised by, but old habits die hard and if dad was more comfortable dressed like that then who was I to make a fuss over it?

As such I was very ill prepared for what I saw. It was as if a frustrated painter had used his oils in a slapdash manner and, unsatisfied by how the splodges refused to make a pretty picture, had slashed at the canvas with his bare hands.

I'd quickly closed the door, knowing dad would be upset that I'd seen some of the damage done to him. I'd felt scared and angry and nauseous but I reminded myself that dad was fine, that he had chosen his dangerous profession because he could handle it and for every mark on his body the criminal responsible would be hurt ten-fold, hopefully through the fact that they were somewhere rotting in a prison cell.

That image is ingrained in my mind now. Sometimes when I lie in my-four-poster in the Slytherin common-room it feels like it's been painted onto the back of my eye-lids. It's exactly the thing dad was hoping to avoid and for the most part he did far too good a job of it. But that one image got past the censor and it makes my skin crawl. I don't particularly care now, if those criminals I'd so badly wanted justice served to includes my own mother.

I did at the time. I'm afraid I wasn't very supportive to my brother, when he needed it the most. I hadn't wanted to believe him; couldn't understand how any of it could be possible. It was like telling me prime numbers don't exist, it just didn't compute in my head. I'd already lost my dad; I didn't want to lose her too.

…

One day, I'd wanted to teach Hugo how to play Gobstones but I'd left my set in my bedroom. I was old enough to floo by myself so I'd simply popped home from the Burrow. I hadn't gotten very far. My mum and dad had been standing in the middle of the living room, holding each other; dad with his back to me and mum's face buried in his shoulder.

At first I'd though they were doing that mushy slow dancing that adults did. I'd seen them do that before, with dad humming that muggle song he was so fond of. He hadn't been humming then but his voice was a soft murmur.

"I'm so sorry, Gin. Don't cry, yeah? I love you."

I'd wondered what had happened for mum to need comforting. I'd always seen her as fiercely independent and strong; not at all weepy or overly emotional. But we all have our off days; days when things just come tumbling down around us. She'd pulled away from him and I could just make out her saying,

"You drive me crazy."

"I know, love. I'm working on it."

I'd wondered what he was apologising for. Whatever the reason, I'd figured she would forgive him, he would cheer her up and everything would be fine. She'd moved closer to him again and I'd felt that I was intruding so I'd shuffled back into the fire place. I thought I'd heard through the crackling of the green fire,

"Don't be mad, love. Please."

…..

It was a few weeks later that I'd walked in on dad opening a parcel. He'd quickly shoved it in the cutlery draw and spun round, looking like a kid with his hand caught in the cookie jar. He'd let out a relived breath when he saw me.

"Oh, Al it's you."

"What cha hi-ding?" I'd sung, enjoying the role-reversal. Instead of denying it like I'd expected, he'd grinned back at me conspiratorially.

"Come here," he'd beckoned me over while re-opening the draw. I'd taken the parcel from his hands with mounting excitement only to be disappointed when the crepe paper fell away.

"What do you think?" He'd seemed to genuinely want my opinion so I'd tried my best to be enthusiastic.

"It's a necklace. Er – a nice necklace." He didn't look impressed.

"Come on, Al, you can do better than that."

"It's sparkly," I'd tried again and dad had run an agitated hand through his hair.

"Do you think mum will like it?" Now, this was a question I could sincerely answer.

"She's gonna love it, dad. Teddy says girls like sparkly things." I added, as if to offer credence to my opinion.

"Yeah? Well they must do then." He'd taken the necklace back and I'd known he was teasing me but he'd looked reassured so I hadn't minded.

"Are you going somewhere?"

"Not this year, Al. I'm kicking you munchkins out and we're having a nice candle lit dinner in the garden." He'd ruffled my hair as if to soften the blow of being 'kicked out' like I didn't already know we'd be spending the day at the Burrow.

"The garden?"

"Yeah, I'm going to make it look real pretty and your Gran's been helping me learn how to make grilled chicken Cordon Bleu."

"Sounds fancy." I had no idea what that was supposed to mean but dad's excitement was contagious. "She's gonna have a great time, dad." He'd looked even happier at my words.

"I got some records too," he'd enthused. "That Marvin Clunes guy."

I'd made a face at that and he'd laughed. I didn't see what she saw in the guy but hey, whatever it made her happy. And that's all my dad ever really cared about. He'd put a hand on my shoulder lightly, suddenly looking serious. He had glanced at the kitchen door then up at the window before looking me right in the eyes. I tried my best to look just as serious; like my dad's behaviour wasn't bemusing me.

"This is between me and you, yeah? It's going to be a surprise."

I'd nodded seriously. I may have thought he was acting weird but I knew how much it all meant to my dad and I'd felt honoured that he trusted me with it all. "Mum's hard to surprise though," I'd cautioned him.

"Not this year." His grin was back, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "She thinks I've completely forgotten."

I'm never going to forget though. I still don't know what happened and I was far too glad to have him home from the hospital to either notice or care that our living room was missing several bits of furniture.

…..

I'm sitting here now, in Godric's Hollow, with a couple of white lilies, wondering how I'd missed it all. I feel like I was the unwitting participant in a well-constructed play. Either that or somebody rose-tinted my glasses without me bloody knowing. It's not like I didn't know she had a temper and it's not like I'd never seen her mad at him. He'd looked so unconcerned though; never batted an eye-lid. He took it all in stride and I remember now every excuse I'd unthinkingly accepted:

 _"She's got a dead-line coming up - it's all a bit stressful for her right now."_

 _"It's my fault. I said something I shouldn't have."_

 _"Her friend's going through a tough time so she's staying there the night."_

I think he'd like the gravestone. It's by his parent's graves and Sirius's memorial and it's very simple. Some think it's much understated; he was the saviour of the Wizarding world and Head of its Auror department after all. I reckon dad would have said such thing belong on a C.V not a grave stone. Besides, those were the roles most important to him. I still remember him declaring to me, all those years ago, that we were the very best thing to ever come into his life. He told me the tale, one Christmas holiday, of the mirror of Erised and I had been both saddened and impressed by what he had seen. Apparently, he didn't mind what he got for Christmas as he'd attained his true desire a long time ago. Though, as long as we were on the subject, he could do with a new pair of socks.

Teddy informed me more recently, that dad didn't think himself a very good parent or husband. It doesn't take very much imagination to know how he picked up this way of thinking. I can only hope that he never got that kind of vibe from me or my siblings. He was a good dad and husband and its set in stone now where everybody can see it. They better believe it too, no matter what lies she uses to defend herself.

I can't help but think that the very best part of the message is the end. I may only be a second year and I haven't met very many people but I don't think there are many who deserve it quite as much after everything he went through.

I love you, dad.

And I hope you rest in peace.

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 **Teddy's chapter is with a beta so hopefully it'll be up soon :) Thank you so much to those who reviewed and Favorited. It meant a lot :) I tend to reply to anonymous reviews on my profile so please mention in your review if you don't want me to do this.**

 **I mean no discredit to those who have endured the same as Harry. Perhaps not the whole Voldemort thing but both or either of his home lives. Al's bound to be biased and confused though. By 'two days later' I'm referring to 'Forgiveness' (which I don't expect you to read) being set on August 1st when Al and Ron make up and, two days later - on August 3rd Harry dies.**

 **Love you loads - Ami x**


	3. She doesn't mean it (September, 2026)

_Warnings from first chapter still apply. Thank you so much to WordSmithers_ , _Dramamine Perfected and Lauren for their help with this chap. :)_

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A wolf in sheep's clothing. Hermione had been fond of that expression. A Muggle thing that reminded me of a Muggle fairy-tail. It was in a book she had given me and it's the one and only book I've ever desecrated.

I hadn't understood my anger at the time. I knew the villain was a wolf and not a werewolf, but who ever said angry kids were logical? That phrase holds a different meaning for me now. Maybe I've just become cynical, or maybe it's the guilt talking. It could be the alcohol too. But I'm wary now. I won't be making the same mistake again. Ever.

….

I'd loved her. Not as much as I love him, but I had. She'd been like an aunt to me. She'd been there for me, welcomed me into her home, fed me up, gave me presents and took me out on day trips. She'd come to parent's evenings, given me flying lessons – she'd even given me relationship advice.

I remember now, the first time she'd given me a lesson. It was meant to be with Harry, but he couldn't make it that day.

"I'm sorry love, but Harry's not feeling very well today."

She'd offered to teach me instead and I'd jumped at the chance. Harry was damn good, but it wasn't every day you got taught by a professional Quidditch player. It had been amazing. She was a patient teacher and fun to hang out with; it was a bright memory full of sunshine, blue skies and laughter, very picturesque - and utterly false. It _had_ happened like that, and I did have a good time, but I'll never be able to look back on that memory – and every memory like that - and not feel a little sick inside.

There was a photo of that very day, in the hallway of their little cottage; Ginny and me sat on the grass, brooms on our laps and goofy grins on our faces. It's destroyed now. We'd been in that hallway, a year before it all came crashing down, Harry and I. I'd begged him to go somewhere with me and he'd tugged on his jacket while I'd wittered on about something or other. He'd been silent and eventually it twigged that he wasn't listening to me.

"Harry?"

He didn't reply. There was a tear in his jacket shoulder and he'd fingered the frayed edges absently. He'd been looking at it, yet there was a glazed look to his usually vibrant eyes, as if he was seeing something else altogether. I was going to ask if he was all right when he spoke in a strange far-off voice, hardly above a whisper,

"Can I tell you something, Ted?"

I'd been deeply worried by this point. This was unusual behaviour for Harry and uncharted territory for me. I'd tried to sound upbeat:

"Yeah. Sure, anything."

He'd glanced up at me and, as if unable to hold my gaze, then past my shoulder. I'd started to worry that he'd become stuck again and was about to turn, to see what had captured him this time, when he'd given me a weary grin and said with a helpless kind of chuckle,

"I don't know a damn thing about mending clothes."

I was almost certain that he was going to say something else, but it was a cheerful alternative to what had been running through my head so I'd taken it.

"He can chase down dangerous criminals but can't mend a little tear," I'd teased, shaking my head in bemusement and he'd smiled at me.

"I don't suppose you know the spell then?"

It was my turn to look sheepish.

"Ah, no. Not really."

"I thought not." He'd shrugged off his jacket as well as his mood and I'd breathed a mental sigh of relief, as if I'd successfully avoided a minefield.

"We could always ask Ginny."

"No," he'd replied firmly, "Don't bother her. I'll just grab another one. Won't be a second."

He'd hurried off up the stairs and I'd turned, wondering again what he'd been looking at. It had been that photo and I'd smiled, shrugging his odd behaviour off. I'm not smiling now.

I'd known them for twenty years. I know I'd spent most of that time as an oblivious child, but I was a supposedly mature teenager as well, and three of those years I'd been an adult, an adult that spent a lot of time with my godfather and his wife. My own wife says it's not my fault; she says that there are adults that had known him longer and better and if they'd noticed they hadn't done very much about it. She reminds me that it's hard to notice hidden things and that this was something so well hidden it had taken his death (and for his son to witness it) for it to come to light. She doesn't understand. She doesn't know the mistake I made.

She's wonderful, though. I'm a lucky man and all the more grateful for her now. We have a child, three months old. I love him so much. I can understand why somebody would be so terrified of losing something so precious. John Harry Lupin. My son. And he probably wouldn't be here today if it wasn't for his name-sake.

It had been the summer holidays and I was staying over at Harry's, as I often did. I was odd to think that it would be my last true summer holiday as my final year at Hogwarts was fast approaching. That, however, wasn't the subject occupying my mind - it was completely engaged with one Victoire Weasley.

"Just ask her out, Ted," was his advice. He hadn't even looked up from the dishes he was washing. This hadn't stopped me from raising a sceptical eyebrow at his back.

"Simple as that? You're kidding me." He'd smiled at me over his shoulder.

"Simple as that."

I'd looked down at my hot chocolate, swirling it absently. How could he think it would be that easy? Didn't he understand the risk I'd be taking?

"What if she says no?" There must have been something in my tone that blipped on his parental radar, for he'd abandoned the dishes to come and take a seat in front of me.

"Look, I doubt she'll say no, but if she does, at least you'll know for sure instead of torturing yourself like this." He'd given me a sympathetic look and a reassuring hand-squeeze but I'd scoffed.

"Easy enough for you to say. You're not in love with your cousin." He'd made a face at that, probably thinking of his own cousin, and I hadn't known whether to be amused or disgusted by the image I'd conjured up.

"I suppose that is a bit harder than your best mate's little sister," he'd conceded. "But it's not like you're blood – wait, hold up: 'in love with'? This is more than just fancying her then?" A full blown grin was threatening to invade his face. I'd looked back down at my drink, embarrassed.

"Well, yeah I guess. I mean I wouldn't risk our friendship-"

"- and Bill's wrath," he'd interjected teasingly. I'd ignored him, but didn't deny it either.

"- over a crush."

"Well then, definitely ask her out." He'd stood up again as if there was nothing else to it, but my worries hadn't dissipated.

"What - what if we break up?"

"Merlin, she hasn't said yes yet." He'd looked bemused and I'd shaken my head, annoyed that he wasn't getting why I was so hesitant about the whole thing. I'd looked up at him helplessly through my canary yellow fringe.

"No, I mean, if we break up won't that make things awkward?"

"How so?"

"She's your niece," I'd pointed out and he'd shrugged.

"You're my son." I'd tried not to look too pleased by his easy acceptance; instead slumping back in my chair despondently.

"Exactly." I was all set to sit there and mope but he wasn't having it. He'd put his hands on the table and lent forward, looking right into my eyes – his face serious, his tone firm.

"No-one's going to take sides, Ted. Unless one of you intentionally hurts the other and I can't see that happening. We just want you to be happy. Now stop worrying and go get your girl."

I'd let out a breath at that, reassured. At the time, I'd painted myself a gloomy picture of Vic breaking it off with me, and her family emerging like a pack of protective wolves out for my blood. Harry had constantly reminded me that they were my family too. He went to great lengths to make sure I was always included and he'd let me know if things were to go terribly wrong, that he'd have my back. I only wish he'd believed his own words as much as I did, and that I'd had the insight to say it all back to him. Ginny's family was his family too and, if I'd known how terribly wrong things were, I'd have been by his side in a heartbeat.

It was a couple of days later that he started his usual peculiar behaviour. By usual, I mean he had acted like that, around that time, for as long as I could remember. It was the days leading up to June the 12th – a date that appeared to stress him out more than any impending court case or press conference ever did. It wasn't very often that I saw Harry stressed. To me, he seemed to be forever in a state of utter calm, even when chaos happened around him. His wedding anniversary, however, seemed to knock him off kilter. He'd admitted to me once on a miserable night of the 11th, when we'd been delayed by a malfunctioning port-key that had sent us off into the middle of nowhere, that every year something went wrong on his anniversary. Without fail. He told me of the time they'd gotten lost, had ended up on an unauthorised nudist beach and, despite being fully clothed, had gotten arrested.

I'd laughed at that and it had taken my mind off of our situation. After that I'd taken to alternatively reassuring him that, this year, everything would be fine and teasing him mercilessly. Every year I got an amusing anecdote and, I'm ashamed to say, at one point I'd looked forward to it. I think now that he made most of it up, or he glossed over the details and bent the truth, to amuse me or, perhaps make light of the situation. Either way, he didn't want me knowing, or worrying. That year though, I worried. It was hard not to when your grandmother informs you that the man you've considered a father for so long now, had been rushed to the hospital and might not make it.

He did, though, and he survived three more anniversaries. I don't know how they went; he never mentioned them to me, and I hadn't wanted to ask.

The summer of his last anniversary, I'd been in something of a panic myself. My training officer, for reasons I still don't understand, hated my guts. Bringing my Memory Modification exam forward had been unfair and petty of him but I wasn't about to complain. No, I was about to beg Harry, or Ron for that matter, to help me learn the spell in time.

I'd found their office empty and in something of a shambles. This wasn't anything I hadn't seen before when things were coming to a head in one of their cases, but it made it hard to find Harry's message pad (I wasn't about to leave my message with the secretary) and, consumed by my panic, I had opened a draw in the hopes of finding a spare bit of parchment – anything. What I found instead stopped me cold. There were leaflets; some brightly coloured and some rather more serious looking. It was the headings that had confused me. Why would Harry need such things?

'Fathers – Understanding Child-Hood.', 'How to be a better father to your kids.', 'Ten Easy Steps to Being a Better Husband'. I'd stared at them, wondering if I was imagining them. I'd rifled through the pile, noticing that some looked worn and faded – some even dog-eared in places. They were for work. They had to be. Harry contributed to many charities. I'd figured he was giving a talk somewhere and wanted to do some background research. He was a wonderful father and husband – I could personally testify to the former, so that had to be it. He was passing on his knowledge.

I'd had myself well and truly convinced by that point. I'd glanced up at the door, worried that Harry had been silently watching me, hurt and angry by my nosiness. No one was there. I looked down at the leaflet I'd opened without realising and my eyes were immediately drawn to his handwriting. He had scribbled notes around a check list. There was no use telling myself this was for work - this was personal. Most of the points simply had 'no' written next to them:

 **Manipulate you with control of money?** _No_

 **Prevent you from working or attending school**? _No._

 **Threaten to commit suicide?** _No._

I hadn't seen the point of him even reading it. Then I'd noticed other scribbles.

 **Make you feel like there "is no way out" of the relationship?** _Why would I want to leave?_

 **Do you… Try not to do anything that would cause conflict or make your partner angry?** _Isn't that normal?_

 **Reminds you how lucky you are to have them for a partner.** _I am._

I could understand that. I might have written something similar. It was the other answers that troubled me:

 **Tell you that you are nothing without them?** _I am._

 **Tells you that you never do enough?** _I don't._

 _I love her._

 **Stay with your partner because you are afraid of what your partner would do if you broke up?** _Can't lose them._

 **Criticize your parenting** – _I'm getting better_

 **And/or threaten to take away or hurt your children?** _She would never hurt them._

 **Blame you for how they feel or act?** _It is my fault._

There were some statements that had tiny crosses next to them. I'd told myself it meant a definite no.

 **Is delusional with jealously and accuses you without any rational facts.** x

 **Expresses temper with violent action e.g. shove you, slap you, choke you or hit you?** x

 **Apologies, covers up and/or cries after hurting you.** x

There was one statement at the bottom that was circled. It made my mouth go dry and I'd found myself numbly folding the leaflet and putting it in my pocket.

 **I can't share this abuse with my friends or family.**

I had to talk to him about this. Confront him. Let him tell me that he was simply putting himself in the shoes of a victim in order to gain insight into a case. Figure out if he was lying and help him, if he needed it.

But then there was that big event that evening. I could have pulled him aside and asked him about it beforehand, but it wasn't the time or place to ask such questions. The event would go on late and I'd wanted to be awake to have that conversation with him. Besides, I had that stupid exam to go to. I'll talk to him in the morning, I'd decided.

It never crossed my mind that I wouldn't have the chance. I had no clue that the morning would bring the worst day of my life. It certainly never occurred to me that I'd be submitting the leaflet, neatly folded in my pocket, as evidence against Ginny Potter.

 **Threaten to kill you?** _She doesn't mean it._

Then again, there were a lot of things that never occurred to me. Important things. Things that I'd ignored or explained away. I'm supposed be an Auror. I want to serve and protect. I want to help people. How can I do that if I can't spot a cry for help in my own family?

In fact, I'd stumbled upon it.

And I'd been too late to do anything about it.

* * *

 **It's been pointed out to me that it might be odd for Harry to have such leaflets and having them just lying in a draw. I can see him trying to become a 'better' husband and dad and in a sort of last desperate attempt he picked up some self-help stuff. Also, I think towards the end, before his death, he did kind of want them to be found and that's why he was thinking of telling Teddy (someone who was close to him, then an adult and not blood-related to Ginny) but changed his mind when he saw the picture of Teddy and Ginny hanging out together. I hope this makes some sort of sense. Last chap up soon. Love ya xox**


	4. I've only got eyes for you (July, 2035)

_Warnings from the first chapter still apply. I do not own Harry Potter in any way shape or form. Thank you very much to Dramione Perfected and Lauren for the help with this chapter and a huge thank you to everyone who has reviewed and favourite. I appreciate it so much and it really dose encourage me to write :)_

* * *

I was nine when dad died. It was the year Al started Hogwarts, and when Teddy was training to be an Auror. Dad never really got to see me start anything, save my birth, let alone finish. He didn't get to see me off on the platform; didn't get a letter saying I was in Hufflepuff. He didn't get to scare my first boyfriend or see my first Quidditch match. Would he have been happy that I was a chaser? Or would he have been worried that I was acting so much like his wife?

I don't know and I'm never going to.

I barely remember that day. It's strange that, for the most part, the day my dad died had been a happy one, full of excitement and laughter. It had all passed by in delightful whirl and the only thing I remember now is the night. Granddad had taken us back to the burrow and we'd had hot chocolate and I'd laughed at the tales Gran told me about mum as a little kid. I'd gone to bed feeling happy and warm and safe. I'd dreamt of the magnificent ballroom we'd spent the evening in and imagined dancing with a handsome man one day; looking as graceful and beautiful as mum had in dad's arms.

However, my dreams were entwined with another scene I'd witnessed that evening; one that stood out for all the wrong reasons. I had been hiding, from Lorcan and Lysander, thinking they wouldn't dare come in the girl's toilets, when the door was opened and I'd heard a man's voice. Stifling a squeal, I'd ducked into one of the cubicles. I'd let out a relieved sigh when I'd recognised my dad's voice, quietly protesting at being in female territory. I'd smiled and had been about to jump out and surprise him when I'd heard my mum's irate voice,

"Who the hell does that tart think she is?"

"She was just being polite," my dad replied, trying to sound light-hearted and I'd wondered who they were talking about. I heard mum's heels click on the tiled floor, as if they were just as angry as she.

"She was all over you," she'd fumed.

"She never touched me!" Dad had protested. There had been nothing light-hearted about this, not the usual banter that existed between them - but it couldn't be an argument. My parents didn't argue. I'd never heard them argue.

"I suppose you like the way she says ''Arry'," she'd scoffed and I remember how surprised I'd been at the spite in my usually fair-minded mother's voice.

"She's just a friend." He'd sounded exasperated at this point, as if he'd been through this more than once with her. I'd decided to risk it and opened the door a crack. Mum's back had been to me and I could just make out dad as he'd leant against a sink, rubbing his eyes under his glasses.

"You know her!" I couldn't understand the heat of the accusation: my dad knew a lot of people and after all, it had been a Ministry event. He'd shrugged casually.

"She's our Misuse of Muggle Artifacts liaison."

"I bet she'd like to do more than liaise with you!" I was only vaguely aware what she meant by that, and made a face. I couldn't blame mum for being mad if someone was trying to take him from her, but I didn't get why she was upset with him. It was hardly his fault; some women just acted weird around him. Dad had sighed, as if he knew he was fighting a losing battle.

"She knows I'm married. She's seen pictures of the kids." His hand had wandered down to his pocket and I'd half expected him to get his wallet out and look through them. He'd done that often.

"That doesn't stop people like that." She'd dumped her bag on the sink beside him with a clatter and started rummaging through it.

"People like that?" I'd seen a look of annoyance cross his face before it became neutral once more. He'd taken a breath and his tone had turned placating again. "You've only just met her, Gin."

"And I saw her flirting with you and you-" she'd abruptly stopped her search to turn on him, furiously, "- going on about her dress." He'd held up his hands – a sign of surrender.

"I just said it was nice." His voice wasn't pacifying any more - it was emotionless, as though in the last few minutes his emotions had slid along a scale from happiness to nothing; as if the warmth had slid out of his very being.

"'Just something I threw on'," she'd mimicked in a sickeningly girly voice, turning back to her bag. He'd slumped back against the sink, letting her rant whilst looking like he'd wanted to fall into it and disappear. "Well it bloody missed her. And it's practically see-through."

"I hadn't noticed." He'd spoken in the same flat, emotionless, dispassionate tone, and it had given me shivers, a sickness to my stomach.

"Liar."

She hadn't even looked up at him at that and he hadn't said anything to oppose the hissed accusation. He'd stared down at his shoes and I'd wondered who these people were and what they had done with my parents. Hugo had told me about this comic he had read and I'd half-listened to him go on about pod-people. I wished they had been imposters. At least then I would have had a chance of getting my real parents back.

The crack had taken me completely by surprise. I hadn't even registered it being thrown 'till it ricocheted off the wall. "You're not listening to me are you?" It had sounded like she was asking about the weather and I was convinced I'd imagined the whole thing. Dad hadn't moved an inch but he'd seemed to pull himself together, as though coming out of a daze.

"I am, love. Honestly. Tell you what, let's just find the kids so your dad can take them the Burrow and then me and you can dance the night away or whatever it is you do at these things." He'd gently pulled her close to him and she'd wrapped her arms around his neck.

"Alright," she'd conceded, "But if she comes near you again, there's going to be trouble."

"I've only got eyes for you, Gin." He'd kissed her then and I'd looked away, sighing in relief. I couldn't help but feel like a Muggle bomb had been deactivated, countdown stopped on the last spare second before explosion. "Come on, let's go find our misfits," he'd said eventually, seemingly happy and cheery again.

"I'm surprised James hasn't pulled anything." Mum had sounded much more like her-self as well and I'd had to suppress doing a happy jig in the small cubical. Maybe the aliens had given me back my parents after all.

"Na, he's too busy flirting with Kingsley's daughter," he'd joked and I'd rolled my eyes. I'd heard the door squeak open and I told myself I hadn't heard them properly as they left.

"Like father, like son."

"Ginny, please."

I exited the cubical, and my eyes fell upon my mum's compact mirror, laying innocently on the floor. I figured it had just fallen out of her bag. I'd bent down to pick it up but stopped when I saw the crack running right down the middle.

It was at this moment I felt I was awake, seeing clearly for the first time that night. I'd lain there, thinking about the mirror in my hand; I knew mum would want it back but I was too scared to return it in case they knew I'd listened to them arguing. I'd consoled myself that they had made up and everything would be fine now. All the same, I hadn't been too happy with mum. I had always been told off for throwing things and I definitely hadn't wanted her throwing things at daddy. But that's not what happened, I'd scolded myself. It had just fallen out her bag, and I'd just imagined seeing the blur sailing over my father's head, through that crack in the cubical door. If it really had, dad would have been upset, or angry – at the very least commented on it -and mum wouldn't have sounded so calm. Not to mention the fact that my loving mum wasn't that kind of a person. It was these conflicting thoughts that kept me awake and the reason why I'd heard James creep down the stairs. He wasn't back by morning.

I remember that morning clearly enough. I can close my eyes now and I'll still see Hermione's pale face and drowning eyes; her trying to keep her voice steady and her hands from shaking – trying to be strong for me as she told me daddy was with his parents now. I remember the numbness and the confusion; not knowing what to say or how to act because surely it was all a strange dream. I'd sat on the sofa staring at the wallpaper, half-listening to Ron walking in and Hermione asking him about Teddy. Terror had washed over me: my dad was gone and now I didn't know where mum and James were and Teddy had 'gone into shock'. I hadn't known what that meant and I figured it would just be me and Al from then on; he'd looked like a breeze would knock him flat, so I hadn't thought much of our chances.

In the coming weeks I'd noticed strange men coming in and out; dressed in robes dad had used to wear. They'd looked grave and sympathetic and had given me small pitying smiles when they'd noticed me staring. They'd asked me such strange questions and I remember the frustration and confusion, because I'd wanted to help them get the bad guy who took my daddy away - but I hadn't understood their questions. Why did they keep asking about mum? Why did they ask if I thought they were happy together? If I had ever seen my mum mad at him? I'd thought of the evening before - the pod-people in the ladies loos, but I didn't say anything. I hadn't wanted her to be blamed for something that wasn't her fault. My mum was somewhere at home with a broken heart or looking for the monster who had taken her man from her.

We were offered the chance to visit her sometime later. James had stood up and left the room and I'd decided I didn't want to distract her from finding my dad's killer. I'd built up this little fantasy in my head by this point and was utterly convinced this was what she was doing and the sooner they caught him the sooner mum could come home, the sooner we could be a family again. As such, only Albus went and he wouldn't talk to any of us when he came back, except to quietly apologise to my brother for, what I now know to be, not believing him.

I know the truth now, of course. I still keep the article on my mother's sentence in a box, along with the broken mirror, in the bottom of my wardrobe. That way I can't delude myself any more. It's there in black and white: 'Domestic Violence', 'Spousal Abuse', 'Murder' – nothing I can dream away. It had taken months and months, court date after court date – a struggle I was blissfully unaware of. I like to remember now though, the day she was found guilty and the official day six become four. Teddy has stuck by us like glue, making as much effort as our aunts, uncles and grandparents to take care of us. I know this was partly because he's always considered us his siblings, but I reckon he feels a sort of debt towards dad, so he took care of us the way dad took care of him. As Al and James are now godfathers to Johnny and Ben, I can only hope this won't become a Potter-Lupin tradition.

We sat in the middle of a field in Godric's Hollow one night, my brothers and I, and talked. I don't remember very much of those nine years; only that I felt loved and safe in my father's arms. I feel as though he had a different nickname for me every week from Lily-Pad to Tiger-Lily and I remember the sound of his laughter, the smell of his cooking and every step of the last dance we had together. My brother's remembered different things. They told me that they'd seen the signs but never realized them for what they were. I can't see how they could of; until the Ministry event I hadn't had a single inkling. Dad hadn't kept us in the dark; so much as he'd tried to keep the darkness from us.

James had confessed to us what he had seen that night, something he had never done before, from when he'd snuck into our home to the moment dad had looked right at him; so surprised to see his son in the doorway that he hadn't seen the blow coming. Jamie said he would never forget the sound of dad's head hitting the kitchen counter, not for as long as he lived. He couldn't go on after that, and Teddy had covered for him by proposing a toast. We'd raised our Butterbeers to the brightest star in the sky, hoping that Sirius was keeping an eye on him, and cheered together,

"To dad!"

I'm going to be dancing very soon; dancing with my own handsome man. My very soon-to be husband. My Jake. I'm walking closer now, trying not to trip and I can't help but clutch Teddy's arm a little tighter. He smiles reassuringly at me; bravely doing another man's job. Who better than my oldest brother? James had politely refused. I think he still blames himself. I see him now, with his beautiful wife and three children, and Albus is sat next to him. Al waves at me and I ignore the tears in his eyes.

We're near the front now and I see Hugo give me the thumbs up. I've left him all alone, apparently; leaving him to be the last of us cousins to 'give in and marry'. There's a seat there – right at the front. It's empty. My dad should be there. I like to think he's watching anyway. The seat next-door is occupied by Hermione who gives me a watery smile and an encouraging nod.

Teddy pecks me on the cheek and soon Jake and I have our hands entwined. The ceremony is short but heart-felt and beautiful; I'm surrounded by my family and about to spend the rest of my life with the man I love. My vows: to love and to protect, will be honoured and I can only hope that our story ends the way my parent's was supposed to.

I won't end up like my mother.

And Daddy: I'll make you proud.


End file.
